Page 53 of Nocturn

What kind of proper woman was I lusting for that man?

Propriety . . . and to think I used to be fixated on the subject. That was when I believed I might find a peaceful life as Miriam’s lady’s maid.

Lady Drusilla had not spoken a word, but a flash of black stone caught my attention from far off in the distance.

“Are we going to the House of Lords?” I asked, keeping the urgency at bay.

“Yes, His Highness believed it was time you were transferred to where you belong.” The last three words in the phrase had an extra emphasis.

Nerves spiked, and as much as I desired to continue asking my questions, I did not have the option to seem so anxious. The Resistance’s spies had been correct. I was now where I needed to be to find the Articles.

The carriage began to slow.

I settled on arranging the pleats of the skirt of the dress, fiddling for all intents and purposes. The House of Lords was where I needed to be to get to the Archives.

But why had Lord Draven said this was where I belonged?

The horses neighed, and the carriage halted. I hopped out after Lady Drusilla and took Egan’s hand.

His gentle grip did nothing to my insides, not the way Lord Draven’s had. I released him and caught up to her as she climbed the steps to the Grand Hall. A thrill quickened my pace. I let out a breath and slowed. No need to get ahead of myself.

The hall seemed much more cavernous than in my memory. The dais where the iron throne rested loomed in the distance, sunlight beaming through the silver-framed windows that flanked it.

At the end of the path to the throne, my nerves sharpened. They had Hollows near here in that damp pit I had been tossed down in. Lady Drusilla turned to the right, opposite the pit, through wide double doors that reached halfway to the ceiling.

Before reaching them, they creaked and opened. Two guards braced the doors as they held them. I followed her into a hallway without windows. I squinted, attempting to make out anything of note, but it was a simple, dark hall with a rug lining the middle of the onyx tile. It seemed to stretch never-endingly.

Egan jogged past and propped open the door for us.

Panes framed in iron lined the hall, allowing me to see outward. Beautiful, multi-colored blooms adorned what I could see of the garden, and in one section, it led inside into a labyrinth of flowers framed by hedges.

Far off, columns stretched upward, bracing the other side. The design continued in a circular manner with the garden maze in the middle.

I slowed, eyes wide as I studied.

The circled area was closed off by the building, an outside garden within the House of Lords.

“Miss Amara.” Egan’s voice pulled me from my admiration.

Lady Drusilla had already disappeared. I hastened through the door. It opened to a wide seating area, where women lounged on seating artfully set up around a squat table where tea rested. As spacious as it was, it was nowhere near the grandeur of the Grand Hall.

Four pairs of eyes rose.

The women were incredibly different, but they had one notable similarity: every single woman in here was dressed like I was.

The woman who had a similar skin-tone to mine, the one who had writhed in Lord Draven’s arms rose with all the others.

Feeders.

The only two I had yet to see in Lord Draven’s bed were a slighter woman—skin darker than mine, hair coiled tighter—and the slim blonde.

All the women curtsied toward Lady Drusilla.

“Ladies, I have an addition for you. I expect you all to make her feel welcome in the short time she will be with us.” Lady Drusilla smiled serenely. “As you all know by now, this body will host His Highness’ bondmate, and as such, her body is to remain unharmed.”

Was this a warning for me, or for them?

“As such, there will be a few changes. Movement will be restricted in the feeder wing, and there will be protection at every exit.”